


The Future is Now

by SorcerersScone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Do-Over, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorcerersScone/pseuds/SorcerersScone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do-over fic. Hermione comes back from a decimated future with a calculated plan to make things better this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Past, the Present, and the Future

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliated copyrights.   
> Authors Note: I haven't seen many Hermione-centric do-over fics, so I thought I might as well make one. This will be a relatively long story, posted as it is written. It can also be found on ffn under the name MysticDew.

> “My colleagues and I recently showed that you can think of time travel, the process of going from the future into the past, as a kind of teleportation of information from now to back then.” –Seth Lloyd

Earthy tones wafted up in the muted lights, giving the room a soft, enclosing warmth. Distant sirens created a clashing counterpoint to the slow, indistinct music. Everything seemed calm and quiet in the small coffee shop. Everything but the mind of the bushy haired girl clutching a cooled cup of tea.

Her stare sharply pierced the nothingness, back arched at a soldier's attention and legs ready to spring. She unconsciously reached for something in her pocket, before twitching her hand back towards the white cup, spreading over the blackened wood. Abruptly, she stood up, grabbing her knapsack and throwing her sweater over her with a resolute swish. She jerked toward her pocket, once more restraining herself from reaching it.

Rain pattered outside the window as the girl marched towards the door, her bushy hair darkened by the fading light. A decision had been made, and the murmuring customers of the coffeeshop hadn't a clue as to what it was. The girl had already left their minds by the time a resounding _crack_ sounded from the parking lot.

\---

Hermione Granger, age eleven, opened her eyes with a snap. The early morning light barely peeked through her curtains,leaving shadows over her room. This was not unusual, as Hermione always attacked her mornings with similar ferocity to how she tackled her homework. The beginnings to her typical day ended, however, the moment she cleared her head out of the brown tangle of frizz that passed for hair. A ghostly spectre of a woman stood at the foot of her bed.

"Who are you?" She asked strongly (let it not be said that Hermione Jean Granger was rude. More prevalent questions, _what_ are you being the most likely, stayed firmly in her head).

The ghost, who, now that the young girl looked at her, shared some eerily similar characteristics to herself, spoke quickly. "I'm you. From the future." She paused, smiling. "No, you're not dreaming. Yes, I am real."

Hermione blinked. The ghost stayed silent. She blinked again, running this knowledge through her mind logically. A ghost was no less likely than a time travelling ghost, as far as magical occurrences went (so far as she knew). Plus, that very prim professor from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did say ghosts were real. "Is this," she started, then rephrased. "Are these occurrences common in the Wizarding World?"

The spectre laughed. Hermione found this a bit rude, as she hadn't laughed at the ghost proposing to be her future self shown up at the foot of her bed. "No, not common." Her face lost its light, and she spoke seriously. "You should have just met Professor McGonagall and gotten your books. Have you read Hogwarts, A History, yet?" Hermione nodded quickly. "I come from a future where it's gone. The entire castle was eradicated, along with almost every witch and wizard on the planet. The ones that were left..." she trailed off. "There is no Wizarding World, anymore. I had my muggle heritage to fall back on, but some of the purebloods were worse off. And my two best friends, well, they were a part of all the fighting. They didn't make it. Anyway, I'm here to make sure magic stays alive this time. But I need your help."

Hermione stared at her spectre with wide eyes. Her small face had always been serious, but a knowing look had entered her gaze. "I have friends in the the future? In the Wizarding World?" The ghostly Hermione nodded solemnly. "And then I lose them." It wasn't a question. Hermione had read between the lines of her elder's tale, and she had always been perceptive. "What do you need from me?"

Hermione the ghost looked at her small, squared shoulders. "I need to meld with you. I've researched it. You'll still be you, just with twenty additional years of knowledge." She kneeled down to Hermione's level, speaking seriously, "you will not, however, be the same person you are now."

Hermione grasped the duvet of her bed, wringing the fabric. She knew what the right choice was; she knew she wouldn't be able to turn all that knowledge away. "Do it. Whatever it is you have to do."

\---

Hermione Granger, age thirty one, opened her eyes with a snap. She quickly combed her hair out of her face, squinting in the bright light. _Bloody hell._ She looked down at her hands; she was going to have to get used to being small again. _Not to mention going through puberty again_ , she thought with a groan. Her eyes wandered around the room, landing on the organized desk in the corner. A calendar hung above it, a yellow highlighter giving 1 September a supernatural glow in the morning sunlight. She was only a day away from starting Hogwarts again; seeing Ron, seeing _Harry,_ seeing everyone who had died in the purge.

A shudder ran through her as she remembered that final battle, and the sheer decimation that came with it. She had taken _years_ to come to terms with the fact that she was one of the only witches left in the world. After a solid ten years of integrating herself into a new society, it was suddenly gone. The very few people that survived had scattered. Besides Pomona Sprout, she didn't know where a single person ended up.

The years after that had been a dark time for her. She threw herself into research, scouring the earth for anything and everything about magic that survived. First, she just wanted answers. How had so many magical people died? The answer was never apparent, but the source was: Voldemort. Somehow, Voldemort had almost caused a mass extinction of magic. The only way she could figure out how to fix it was to destroy the warped man himself, and to do that she had to start over.

Which left her here, in the room of her eleven year old self, about to start formal magical schooling. _They can't track me yet, though_ , she thought, and raised a hand experimentally. _Time to see if my magic's up to snuff._ Without speaking, she lifted her trunk from it's corner and set it at the foot of her bed. A smile lit her face as she realized she hadn't lost all that she trained for. "Tempus" she spoke softly, unmoving. A glowing 09:23 lit her duvet, and she jumped up. She hadn't "slept in" this late for five years as far as her parents knew. Rushing down the stairs, she truly felt her new age as she met the new day with a smile.

The following hours were more hectic than she expected, as her eleven-year-old self had packed somewhat differently than her future self would consider smart. Firstly, the muggle journals, pens and textbooks were something she had picked up for her personal note taking later in life. She didn't think she could switch back again. A wandless illusion spell later and all her spiral notebooks now looked like much more acceptable leather bound ones; her pens would appear to be self-inking quills to anyone but her. She gave a slight smirk, almost Slytherin-like. Anyone who met her would have a hard time distinguishing her from a pureblood in manner and knowledge. The open curtains fluttered as she sat at her desk, color coding an 'attack plan' in a carefully charmed notebook.

By the time she had repacked, returned her room to its original state, and reunited with her parents, she was exhausted. Weren't eleven year olds supposed to have boundless energy?

Hermione groaned as she realized her future strict exercise regimen would have to be built up from the bottom again. Her bookish ways hadn't exactly been good for getting in shape. But that could wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she got on the Hogwarts Express. Tomorrow, when she saw Ron and Harry for the first time in years. "Tomorrow," she muttered as consciousness left her.

\---

Hermione's morning had began exactly how she remembered. Her parents had tearfully left her at the gap between nine and ten, and she had walked on to platform 9 3/4 with an excited grin. Only this time, she waited five minutes and walked right back out. She knew how Harry had met the Weasleys and instantly befriended them, and while she hated to break that connection, the logical part of her brain knew that connecting with him first was the only logical way to make this work.

Lo and behold, she saw a messy haired boy walking up to a train conductor, and subsequently getting brushed off. She waited until he went back to looking lost before tapping him on the shoulder, lightly. He spun around, cringing away from her. "Hey," she said softly. "If I were to say Hogwarts, would you get what it meant?" A look of relief washed over Harry's face.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" He asked hopefully. "Do you know how to get on the platform?"

She nodded. "Professor McGonagall told me after I accepted admission," she said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise I'd have no clue. It's a bit odd, though. She said to just walk through the bricks between platforms nine and ten - you know, over there? I was a bit nervous trying to go in on my own."

Harry squared his shoulders, determination passing his young face. "We can go together," he said, "I wouldn't fancy trying to do that on my own either. You ready?" He led the way, automatically taking the role of a leader. Hermione was surprised how hints of the Harry she knew showed through in this child; he wasn't _her_ Harry, but he was undeniably just Harry.

"Brilliant!" Hermione said as they passed through the bricks. Harry had flinched, expecting an impact, but bravely rolled on. "I'm Hermione, by the way." She left off her last name, trying her hardest to make up for her original reaction. (It had been a long time since she had to confront how strong she had come on in first year. The parallels were already dissipating as she rewrote her own history, and she decided she liked it this way).

"I'm Harry," he replied. "Are you new to magic, then?"

She nodded. "My parents are dentists. They had no idea about all this magic stuff; but I researched a lot, apparently

it's a bit dodgy to go in not knowing anything. There's a stigma against muggleborns - are you muggleborn, by the way?" She added, remembering at the last second not to reveal her knowledge of Harry's life.

Harry visibly paled at her commentary. "My parents were magical," he said slowly, "but they died when I was one. I've lived with my aunt and uncle and didn't know anything about magic until about a month ago. You said we need to know a lot going in?"

She led them to the nearest entrance; Harry was too worried about his ignorance he hadn't realized she levitated their trunks up to level with the train, nor when she led them to a compartment. "Not about how to do magic or anything. Just culture and such. I read a bunch of books on it, and talked to quite a few people in Diagon Alley, but it seems like you may be less of a bookworm than I." She smiled, trying to put him at ease. Harry, however, looked worse.

"I can teach you some, if you like," she offered slowly. This was the most delicate point of the entire plan. She needed to gain - regain - Harry's trust, and she had to do it now. The issue of houses wasn't unconsidered by Hermione. She had evaluated and reevaluated every single house. She had considered every possibility. And she knew what she had to do. At Harry’s eager nod, she began. “Well, Hogwarts is the highest ranked school in all of Britain. The first thing we’ll do when we get there is be sorted into houses. There are four. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

At the last word, Harry made a face. “What?” Hermione said, somewhat sharply.

Harry frowned. “Isn’t Slytherin full of dark wizards? Hagrid, the gamekeeper, told me that every evil witch or wizard came from Slytherin.”

Hermione shook her head, frizz covering her face. “All houses have their ups and downs. And I can’t honestly believe that an entire fourth of the school is naturally evil. I’m sure Hagrid meant well, but maybe there are multiple perspectives on this."

"Wait, so you're saying Slytherins aren't all evil?" said Harry questioningly. He paused for a moment, then looked embarrassed. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Thats what everyone did with me at my aunt and uncle's, and they were telling everyone I was a delinquent."

Hermione froze at that. How was she supposed to respond to that? Little Harry was more blunt than she remembered. "I mean, there are qualities highlighted in all the houses. Hufflepuff considers loyalty to be the most important quality in a person. Slytherin's just happens to be ambition."

"Well what are the other ones?"

"See, Ravenclaws value intelligence, and Gryffindor considers bravery absolutely essential..."


	2. Time is an Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry reach Hogwarts.

> “time is an illusion; it is relative — it can vary for different observers depending on your speed through space” – Elizabeth Howell

By the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, Hermione had educated Harry on everything from houses to pureblood bigotry to quidditch to quick quote quills. She considered it generally successful, but part of her realized the giant amount of work she had to do. She thought longingly on her notes, the clearly outlined, crisp spiral notebook that detailed her plan from beginning to end. It was in the future, and she had not yet had time to reproduce it.

 _Harry first._ She thought to herself. _I have to make sure this goes perfectly._

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Came the familiar bellow of Hagrid. She froze for a moment - she had forgotten Hagrid. The memories of his warm wooden hut, the hints of spice and leather that permeated the little room; and _oh god,_ how he had met his end, once the Wizarding War became the Wizarding World War. He didn't stand a chance with his little pink umbrella. She choked down her thoughts.  
"Hagrid!" Harry yelled joyously. Hermione put an excited smile on her face as she walked more sedately towards the half giant.  

"All righ' there, Harry?" He roared over the crowd. The mess of birds, cats, humans and overwhelming noise slowly faded as the other years got into the carriages. Hermione, somewhat shaken from her abrupt recollections, followed Harry into a boat. She let Harry's excitement take her over.

"I didn't know there'd be a _lake!_ " they heard someone scream. Hermione thought it was Su Li, if she remembered correctly. Ravenclaw.

Harry grinned, "Hagrid said the first view of Hogwarts is spectacular."

"Oh yes, so long as the Giant Squid doesn't get you," a voice drawled behind them. A boy dropped into their boat with a flourish, settling his robes in a practiced motion. "Blaise Zabini, by the way. You?"

"Hermione," she cut in quickly, before Harry could speak. "And this is Harry." They shook hands, Blaise looking somewhat thrown by their partial introductions. Or perhaps he had guessed why. She had never known Blaise well enough to tell beyond his stony glare. "I suppose being tossed into the lake might put a damper on things."

"May I join you?" A voice cut through the fog, and Hermione could make out the figure of Padma Patil.  
"Of course," she said. But before they could introduce themselves, Hagrid announced the start of their trip.

"Wa'ch your head!" They heard, and quickly ducked under the ivy. Hermione looked over at Harry, who was staring forward, willing the boats to move faster. She caught his eye, and they shared a grin. The full moon pierced through the fog, which cleared as they got to the center of the lake.

And suddenly, the castle was there. Hogwarts. She resisted the urge to cry out; the last time she had seen her home of six years, it was little more than rock dust. Back to it's former glory, she looked with new appreciation on the warm stone, the high, darkened towers and the magical presence as it swirled around them, inviting them in.

"Wicked." She heard Harry whisper. They shared another glance, and Hermione saw new hope on Harry's face. Behind them, Padma gasped as they approached the grand front doors. Blaise said nothing.

"The firs' years, Pr'fesser McGonagall," Hagrid announced. McGonagall's severe frown greeted them. She was younger than Hermione remembered. Watching her fellow classmates, she was sure she was the only one that thought so. Professor McGonagall had always made an impression, and now was no difference. Especially as it had ```` happened.

Hermione shook the confusion of time travel out of her mind, watching Draco Malfoy approach. She had been waiting for this part.

"I heard Harry Potter was on the train. Was I incorrect?" He walked up to Harry. Hermione blinked; this didn't seem to be the hostile approach Harry and Ron told her about.

"Not incorrect," Harry said. The implied "You're talking to him" carried the weight of Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Not Just Harry. Hermione remembered Harry's first interaction with Malfoy - the feeling he most took away was terrible ignorance - and Hermione had curbed him of that. That put the two on an even playing field, and by the impressed glint in Malfoy's eye, he knew it.

"The names Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Harry nodded a response, so Malfoy continued. "And you're The Boy Who Lived. Quite a title, I must say," Draco said, neutrality coloring his face. The first time _definitely_ hadn't gone like this. "The Wizarding World of today is so far removed from the last generation. You're their hope, Harry Potter. You'll want to watch yourself - hope is so easily crushed."

Harry furrowed his brow, and Hermione could imagine the cogs in Harry's brain working. She idly wondered how long Malfoy had planned that - or whether they were hearing his father's words through him. "Thankfully," Harry started, "I have harder skin than a concept. Or so Voldemort thought, anyhow."

She could have cheered. This was the side of of Harry that had led the DA. This was the side of Harry that tackled the horcrux hunt with such determination. A sobering thought kept her from grinning like a loon. This was the Harry that had died protecting her.

"Indeed," Malfoy continued, oblivious to her mental musings, or really to her at all. "Although I find that the hardest skin has a weak heel, somewhere. That's why allies are necessary."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Allies. They can make the difference between success and failure." Hermione was suddenly glad she had covered pureblood customs on the ride here, as Harry didn't seem to be surprised when Malfoy held out his hand.

"I can help you there." He said with an almost smile. Harry shook it.

\---

The sorting ceremony was loud and rambunctious as it usually was. The first years stood clustered, in their black ties and robes, somewhat incredulous at the Sorting Hat. When Abbot, Hannah, was sorted into Hufflepuff, they stared with rapt attention at the moment that decided their fate for the next seven years.

“Granger, Hermione.”

Hermione, this being her seventh sorting, was as relaxed as the cool exterior some of her year mates put on. By the time her name was called, she sent Harry a confident smile and strode up to the stool.

It only just occurred to her to be slightly worried about what exactly the hat might say. She knew the enchantment to sort any student it came to hadn't been altered, so unless the hat was spelled to warn the headmaster of time travellers, she was in the clear. She set it resolutely on her head.

 _Oh dear._ Said the hat. _Not another one._

Hermione jumped up a fraction of an inch. _Not another what?_ She asked.

 _One of_ you. _The Time Meddlers. This happens more often than you might think, you know._ It said. _Fortunately for you,_ the hat took on a dark tone, _I have a feeling you won’t muck everything up worse than it seems to be headed. I’m set on fire, you say?_

Hermione took a second to contemplate whether a hat could have feelings, and another remembering the Hogwarts Massacre. _I won’t let that happen this time. But I need to do what I need to do._

 _Alright, alright. I know what you want. And I’m even going to give it to you._ “Ravenclaw!” The hat said aloud.

Hermione’s shoulders slumped in relief, and she walked proudly to the side of the Ravenclaw table that bordered the Slytherins. Padma waved invitingly to the open seat across her. With a grin, she took it.

The sorting continued; Draco Malfoy was looking particularly smug, knowing his name was creeping closer; and sure enough, "Malfoy, Draco," was called.

Malfoy swaggered up to the hat, placing it resolutely on his head. The hat seemed to wait a few seconds. Hermione absently wondered how much of her plan it had picked up - did it know everything? Could it only tell what she was thinking about? She had to assume that the pause at Malfoy was a due to the hat's new knowledge. Yet as last time, the resounding "Slytherin!" filled the hall, and a smirking Malfoy waltzed to his new house.

The names creeped to Potter slowly. Hermione watched eagerly, almost anxious to see the whole process over again. Padma, looking particularly concerned, kept throwing her long hair over her shoulder to glance at Hermione. She mellowed visibly, pulling her nervousness out of her frame. There was nothing she could do but wait. She sent a reassuring smile at Padma, and so was startled when "Potter, Harry," sent the hall into whispers.

Harry gulped, glancing over at her. She nodded reassuringly, sending him a grin. He managed a smile and walked confidently to the stool. She could no longer see his expression under the hats wide brim. It was a short time before the hat opened its mouth and prepared to speak. Last time was much longer, and Hermione was on the edge of her seat. This was it. This was the moment where her entire plan could either succeed or fail. She shook with excitement and if they would only get on with it already-

"Better be... Slytherin." The hat boomed drily, and the hall erupted in whispers.

\---

Hermione had a lovely time at the Ravenclaw table, talking to both Padma and Terry at length. She also spoke a fair bit with Cho Chang, now in second year and much more awkward than her future self. Cho filled them in on etiquette for the Ravenclaw table (some extroverted head boy had made the sensible rule that it was expected to leave your books in the tower; otherwise, she was certain no one would ever speak to one another) as well as general house guidelines.

Ravenclaw is for those who seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge, not knowledge for the sake of power. The house took McGonagall's words of treating your house as your family to heart, and intra-house relations were to be cordial at worst.

Hermione thought Ravenclaw was much more put together about house customs. Perhaps it was because she was now in a house of obsessively organized studiers (like her) but having the rules laid out seemed like a much better plan than expecting newcomers to pick it up as they go.

Idly, she considered the likelihood that Slytherin was more like Gryffindor than Ravenclaw. She would have to ask Harry.

Harry seemed to be enjoying himself, as much as a muggle-raised celebrity could at a table that assumed he was at their level. She remembered Harry talking about how he had insulted Dudley without him noticing by playing word games. Having never met Ron and settled into the friendly Gryffindor atmosphere, she knew Harry would be up to the challenge. He would base his entire Hogwarts years on the habits he learned this month, and being sorted into Slytherin was the best thing that could have happened to him.

She watched him interact with Malfoy and narrowed her eyes, plans darting into her head and being dispelled just as quickly. That was an unexpected development; she just didn’t want Harry to be manipulated by him. But she was a mudblood and he was a Slytherin. It was going to be a bit more complicated than she had thought.

Hermione realized she had forgotten about her dinner and jumped as dessert appeared.

“You get used to it,” Cho giggled, noticing her startled face.

Hermione grinned self-deprecatingly, “I certainly hope so. I was raised in the muggle world, all this is new to me.” Padma nodded understandingly. Too understandingly, in fact. Hermione cursed herself, realizing that a house full of know-it-alls would pick up on exactly what she meant by ‘raised in the muggle world.’

In her old future, no one cared what your blood was. There were hardly enough magicals to matter who married whom.

Dessert was a quiet affair, as the table filled with the typical spread. Hermione realized that Ravenclaw was filled with lighter fare for dessert than Gryffindor. Was it caused by a more health-conscious population, or a consideration for the more sedentary nature of Ravenclaws? There were so many little things she had never realized that went into Hogwarts.  

The trek up to Ravenclaw tower was shorter than the one to Gryffindor, but the room seemed colder without the warm fire and welcoming red and gold. She sighed slightly.

Eleanor Haven, the fifth year prefect, led the six first years into their dorm. “The basic idea is to create your own space,” Elise explained. They were led into a room of deep blue with bronze trim, split into six equal spaces. “Use what you learn to develop a style, secure your personal belongings, and get along. There are two toilets, one’s the door in the back of the common area and the other’s across the hall. Have fun.” She darted off, presumably to go to her own room.

Padma Patil, Su Li, Mandy Brocklehurst, Morag McDougal, and Lisa Turpin.  Her roommates for the next six years. They stared at one another for a few moments before she darted to the left, claiming her room. A loud scuffle was heard as the others sprinted for the space they wanted.

Hermione was astounded by the difference between the dorms in Ravenclaw and in Gryffindor. In a way, it made sense. Gryffindor bravery meant sharing a room for seven years, getting along and trusting one another. Ravenclaw, instead, didn’t care about trust. And what better way to use your magic in a practical way than to build your own space? She took a moment and put some discreet wards around her space. So far there was nothing that the rest of her classmates would notice, but there was also nothing for them to find particularly interesting about the last room on the right unless she was in it.

Lisa Turpin, who Hermione had never spoken to in this timeline or the last, knocked on the wall that divided her space and Hermione’s. “Hey, neighbor,” Lisa said nervously.

Hermione was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on her plain new bed. “Hi!” she chirped brightly. “I’m Hermione Granger,” she held out a hand, walking more towards the divide.

“Lisa.” She shook it. “Lisa Turpin. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. Want to talk to everyone?”

In the grand scheme of things, Ravenclaw was the best place for Hermione to have gone.

She would get used to it.

 

 


	3. Time is a Constant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ravenclaws and Slytherins share a class, and Hermione and Harry discuss potions.

> “the experience we have of being in the present moment, a flow of moments succeeding each other, is not an illusion” – Lee Smolin

Hermione had a good grasp on where all the girls stood in Ravenclaw. Padma was almost a polar opposite of her sister (much to Hermione’s relief). Lisa was extraverted and sociable. Morag was quiet; she had only gotten a few words out of her. Su Li reminded Hermione of herself as a first year - she was knowledgeable, but only too willing to prove it.

Hermione wondered how her life would’ve gone last time around, if she hadn’t chosen Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw when the hat offered her a choice. She lay in bed, arms behind her head, looking at the starry ceiling of Ravenclaw. _Tempus_ , she thought. 07:00. Right on time.

Hermione grinned as she realized she hadn’t lost all of her skill. Although, she realized, the amount of magic she could channel through an eleven year old, unfit body was a hinderance. She lifted her hand, focusing towards her trunk (it had appeared the night before) and with a flick of her wrist had her clothes stacked neatly in her new wardrobe.

The art of making a proper room was meant to be a progression, a learning experience, in Ravenclaw. It was a space for students to scratch their itch for practicing all sorts of magic in a safe environment. Hermione realized that they would be expected to do very little before learning plenty of charms at the very least. She was itching to make the space her own. She glanced at her wand, lying innocently on her bedside table. It would have to wait. As far as anyone knew, she was as ignorant as any first year.

She would have to stay under the radar for a few weeks at least; no one was going to pay attention to a Ravenclaw who was a quick study, but a young muggleborn who got everything right going into class? Impossible.

The five other girls were waking up, and she made an effort to greet them cheerfully. There was no reason to alienate anyone thus far. They all headed down to breakfast together, where Professor Flitwick was handing out their schedules. That was going to be another adjustment, for sure.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the entrance to the Great Hall. She hoped Harry was doing alright; Merlin knew children were unpredictable, and Slytherins more so. But Harry- Harry had been dealing with the Dursleys all his life. He had already had to grow up pretty quickly. She hoped with what she had told him on the Hogwarts Express he could survive the mine-field that was pureblood prats.

Sure enough, he was walking in the door next to none other than Draco Malfoy. He must have made quite an impression on the blond, because Malfoy looked particularly proud to be standing next to the boy-who-lived. Hermione had anticipated two futures for Harry in Slytherin: he would either be shunned for being the reason the majority of the house's parents had lost their positions, or every Slytherin in their right mind would want to tag along with Harry's fame to attempt at fame with him.

Neither was a particularly nurturing environment, but Hermione was glad that the latter seemed to be happening. After all, if it had been drilled into many of their heads from birth to take every opportunity to grow in power. It was in their nature.

"Looks like we have Herbology first thing," Padma commented. "With Slytherin."

Lisa shrugged, "could be interesting." She was a halfblood, and so had no particular love or hate for the Slytherins. Hermione wondered how they would act this time around. She wasn't hopeful; one first year, no matter how famous he was, could change an entire house in a night. She would keep her head down and get to work.

The six of them planned to walk down together, when Terry Boot tapped her on the shoulder. "First year, right?" She nodded, "Terry Boot, nice t'meet you."

Hermione smiled, "Hermione Granger. Are you heading to Herbology?" They fell in step with the rest of the girls, and before she knew it all the Ravenclaw first years were chatting.

She noticed idly that they were all excitedly talking about classes, and while that sort of unity couldn't be found in Gryffindor, she admitted the likelihood of all Gryffindors uniting on one topic was slim to none.

The Slytherins trickled in a few minutes before the bell, Malfoy still sticking to Harry like glue. Crabbe and Goyle followed them, looking lost. Harry looked at her and back at Malfoy, his brows furrowing. Hermione held his gaze, shook her head and mouthed, "Later." Harry's shoulders relaxed and he went back to talking to Malfoy, relieved. She knew her being a muggleborn would make communication difficult; associating with a mudblood was less than popular in Slytherin, and Harry was going to have to prove himself as a Slytherin at heart.

"Welcome to Herbology. My name is Professor Sprout..."

Hermione didn't pay too much attention in Herbology. She potted whatever plant they were meant to be helping, but her mind was elsewhere. She missed Harry. Her Harry. The Harry that had faced death countless times and still smiled at her, the Harry who let her cry in peace once Ron had left them- Harry had been righteous and noble and kind. And after Ron abandoned them, that kindness had gotten him killed.

That couldn't happen again. Her version of Harry was chipping away, replaced by a jaded Slytherin. He couldn't trust anyone, not even the people he slept next to. But playing his cards close to his chest was the only way to keep him alive, and she had to do that above all else.

"Hermione? You ok?" Terry asked, nudging her.

She grinned apologetically, "I'm fine, sorry."

"We have to go if we want to get to Potions," he said, gesturing to the rest of the Ravenclaws, who had already begun to leave the greenhouse.

"Oh Merlin's socks," She exclaimed, beginning to clean her equipment. Terry snorted, and they rushed to catch up.

\----

Potions, naturally, did not have the laid back introduction Professor Sprout employed. She had forgotten Snape's dramatic speech - like they would be bottling glory any time soon, she thought snidely - but unlike her first run through Hogwarts, she knew exactly how to deal with Professor Severus Snape. He was a coward, a traitor, a murderer. He had betrayed the Order and killed Dumbledore. He had tortured or allowed the torture of the rest of the DA all throughout her seventh year. But this wasn't the future; in this present climate reveling in the idea that Voldemort was never coming back, he and his fellow Death Eaters had to adjust.

He was a traitor and an ugly, horrible man. But that didn't mean he couldn't be used. His speech droned on and from the look of her neighbors it was having the desired effect of making them both interested and weary. The parting shot "- If you aren't the normal sort of blithering dunderheads that I have to teach," was a scathing blow to Padma, at the very least, because she recoiled visibly from her seat next to Lisa Turpin.

She kept her head down in class, didn't answer any questions or even raise her hand. Su Li, instead, was the one to be insulted outright for her overeagerness. Hermione infered that there was one student per class Snape must decide to completely crush the hopes and dreams of. This class, his victim was Hannah Abbot. She really, really loathed that man.

She had a tentative plan of how to deal with Snape, but it completely depended on how he treated Harry. She had organized the "later" they were looking for by sending him an owl via Hedwig the very next day, describing that she would be at her table at the library (some things simply had to stay the same, and Hermione considered her study space to be a huge comfort). He was welcome to join her.

"Hermione," Harry said at a whisper, approaching her table. He looked slightly hunted, like someone who had spent too much time in the limelight. He probably had. "You saved my life. Twice."

She looked up from her book, set it next to the window, and grinned. "Glad I could help. What exactly did I do?"

"It's Snape," he began, sitting down across from her. Wandlessly, Hermione set up a Notice-Me-Not charm as well as a Muffliato. "I don't know why, but he _hates_ me."

Hermione frowned. "He was very rude to my class too."

"It's not just the class. Really he favors the Slytherins over the Gryffindors, and kept asking all them questions that no one knew. But he kept talking about how fame wasn't everything and how I was probably as bad as they were because of my 'over-inflated ego' and he really seemed to hate me.

"But he asked me two questions and that was part of what we went over yesterday and he didn't know how to deal with it!" Harry's voice had been raising considerably with each sentence, and if Hermione hadn't directed attention away from them then she was certain Madam Pince would be there in a heartbeat. "Draco said he shouldn't have tried to do that, apparently Slytherins stick together."

Harry looked a bit sheepish, scratching the back of his head as he realized he wasn't quite sticking with them. Hermione pushed on, "What was the other thing?"

Harry relaxed, continuing, "Oh it's nothing really. It's only I hadn't realized how different this place was going to be, you know, when I was at Diagon Alley. They just seemed a bit eccentric but generally normal. Only, there's a lot that goes into all the politics at Slytherin." He looked around him and lowered his voice, "I think a lot more of them than you said were on Voldemort's side, honestly. They wanted me to prove to them that I was as Slytherin as they were, and I told them if they were really cunning and wanted to achieve their ends, why were they seen in such a bad light – anyway that got them all thinking, so Draco told me to get myself up to the dorm in case it ended badly.” Harry was playing with his hands and looked up at her worriedly.

“I’m sorry about Herbology, Hermione. I didn’t know what to do-”

Hermione cut in, “I read a book about Slytherin. I understand that they aren’t exactly fond of muggleborns like me.” Harry looked crestfallen; Hermione imagined he was gearing himself up for being told he should either stand by her or lose a friend. She hurried to continue, “but we’re here for seven years. I think it might be better if you didn’t tell... Draco, and the others, that we’re friends.”

“Maybe we can come study here together,” Harry said hopefully, “maybe you can save my hide again, and all the Slytherins are out to get each other. I need to know everything about the Wizarding World.”

Hermione smiled, “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

\---

With a clear plan settled, Hermione became a near fixture in the library. Often, she would ask if anyone wanted to join her, ending up surrounded by her fellow yearmates in Ravenclaw. She found this mildly soothing. It was strange to happen upon eleven year olds who loved to study as much as she did back then and now, but if the Ravenclaws had done a similar study group the last time it was news to her. At some points, Terry and Padma would come on their own, but Hermione was unfocused on their friendships. While having loyal members in every house would help her plans, she was more focused on Harry, first.

When she was alone, Harry had a tendency to ‘randomly’ pop in for a few minutes. Sometimes he would pop in for an hour. Either way, Hermione could paint a pretty clear picture of Harry’s experiences.

Harry had wandered over to the Slytherin table, not expecting much of a welcome at the welcoming feast. Sure, Draco Malfoy had declared them allies, but that didn’t mean they’d be besties. So it was his surprise when Malfoy waved him over with an honest-to-Merlin grin. Harry quickly learned that the Slytherin house wasn’t quite as sly, cunning and secretive when they were trying to impress a celebrity, but Malfoy seemed perfectly able to deflect any questions about his scar or anything else.

He knew he would have to deal with the whole boy-who-lived thing; after the welcoming feast, when they descended to the dungeons and entered the common room, a few of the upper years confronted him. They were some of the many left fatherless or motherless after Voldemort’s defeat landed them in Azkaban. Harry acerbically asked them if they still supported a dead man instead of moving on to the present climate, which lead to a larger scale spat. Harry came out victorious when Jake Flinton, fifth year prefect, quieted the rabble and pronounced them all excitable idiots for not realizing how right Harry was.

Hermione grinned through that entire story; it was exactly what she had hoped for; however, there was one big issue she hadn’t expected. Draco, Harry explained, seemed to treat Harry as his successor, or some sort of stalwart student. He was teaching Harry everything there is to know about Slytherin, and side-by-side they would explore the school.

To Hermione, she saw Malfoy sucking up to the most influential member of the house. When she whispered this to Harry, he privately agreed. “I’m not going to refuse it, though. One thing Draco said is to never reveal your incompetence, so this seemed a good way to fix that,” he grinned. “I think he forgets that not everyone’s as thick as Crabbe and Goyle. I _was_ put in Slytherin for a reason.”

Hermione stifled a sort-of hysterical laugh; being the reason Harry learned these lessons was a more than ironic. “It’s good to know you’re not as thick as those two. Honestly, I’m surprised they were allowed to be sorted!”

Hermione gladly shared a chuckle with Harry; she definitely enjoyed when they could talk, even at a muffliato and a whisper. But each time he came back, she realized just how much Slytherin was changing him. Some inner cunning that was once stifled began to thrive. She remembered Harry’s well-spoken insults he shared with her from his time at the Dursleys before her time leap, and his quick thinking with Malfoy earlier. It was certainly going as she planned, and she had always known it was going to be difficult to see him become someone other than her old Harry.

Outside of the Ravenclaws and Harry, Hermione was surprised to be visited by a great many classmates. Pavarti and Lavender found their way to her table, to ask a quick question about how to counter a locking spell. She pointed them towards a book on a nearby shelf, and they sat for a while in companionable silence. Soon, word of Hermione’s willingness to help her classmates had reached most ears, and everyone from Hannah Abbott Seamus Finnigan had asked her for advice.

Blaise Zabini, who must’ve remembered her from the boats, came to sit for a while, and while he hadn’t asked her for advice, they chatted for a short time on the general boredom of waiting for the entire class to turn their matches into needles.

“I honestly don’t understand the difficulty,” he said as he leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Its a matter of will more than wand movements, anyhow.”

Hermione tilted her head, “I suppose that’s true. Is that your theory?”

That was not, in fact, Blaise Zabini’s theory, but she considered this a good opportunity to sound him out. Thus far he had been impossible to read.

“Nah, my mum always mentioned that.” He said, “But it does seem to be confirmed, doesn’t it? You must realize.” Zabini leaned towards her, “I can’t help but notice, you’re the second to complete the enchantment. Every time.”

Hermione smiled. “I suppose having an example from a fellow student helps everyone succeed.”

He was the only one from Slytherin to have visited her, but he had been a loner the last time as well, so Hermione figured her semi-confidential library conversations were safe enough for any half-blood Slytherin.

This development was definitely to her liking, and might even serve as a boon to garner her liking with the entire class. Only one person expressed any sort of dislike, and that was none other than Ronald Weasley.


	4. Space, Time, and Repetition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione faces multiple threats, but gains an ally. 
> 
> I have recently reworked the chapter organization for this story - if you've read part of this before, you can skip down to the line break and continue from there.

> “When the dust settles, time – whatever it may be – could turn out to be even stranger and more illusory than even Albert Einstein could imagine” –Carlo Rovelli

Ron Weasley approached her much like the rest of her classmates, with a question about a cure for boils. “I believe it’s in _Advanced Potion Making,_ ” Hermione said kindly, keeping the sneer firmly off her face. “There’s a copy two shelves to the right.”

Ron looked at her strangely, “You don’t know what it is?”

“I do know the ingredients, yes,” she responded, “But if you want to learn them as well, it’s over in that book.” Hermione really hoped he took the hint; she remembered years of dealing with Ron’s laziness. Before her time jump, she hadn’t seen him for ten years. She didn’t even know if he survived and frankly she didn’t care.

“Why can’t you just tell me, if you know?” Ron asked, looking firmly confused.

Hermione knew her patience was short. She knew she should really hold her tongue around Ron Weasley because like it or not, he had influence in Gryffindor house, and she might actually have to work with him later. But she was _angry._ “I’m not going to cheat for you, _Weasley,_ ” she sneered. “Everyone has to do their own work, and just because you think you’re special doesn’t mean I’m going to let you slack off.”

Ron’s face approached the color of his hair; she could see him distantly, watching as if he was on a television screen. Certainly he yelled something at her, but she simply continued her work, and Madam Pince took care of him.

Hermione noticed nothing different in the days afterwards, and generally believed that to be the end of it.

She was more focused on Harry, who seemed to be having Slytherin troubles.

“Blaise says you’re alright,” he started, exasperated, “but the load of them are full of bloody pureblood bollocks!”

“Harry!” Hermione whispered harshly.

Harry covered his mouth as he realized he was yelling in the library, but continued at a slightly lower volume, “It’s just not right; when they’re in the common room I don’t think they even realize it, but they just keep going on about how terrible mu- well, they call people something else, but- muggleborns are.” He stuttered.

Hermione knew perfectly well that Harry had been about to say mudbloods, but she realized quickly that being around that many people saying mudblood would desensitize anyone to the word. She certainly got over it quickly, not that she wouldn’t use the opportunity to curse someone out of their socks if they called her it. The only concern she could see was Harry’s apparent adoption of the term.

“Have you told them your mum was muggleborn?” She said instead.

Harry frowned. The sharp comment seemed to hit home, because his demeanour sunk from his self-righteous pose and he mumbled, “I honestly just leave whenever they start talking about it. I don’t know if they’d figure it out on their own, but…”

“They’re not thinking.” She interrupted, “Plus, how much of that do you think they copied verbatim from their mums or dads?”

That seemed to make Harry think, and he walked away slowly, evidently not processing his surroundings. Hermione’s weeks continued quietly, as Harry drifted in and out of the library. One evening, he walked with a purpose back to Hermione’s corner.

“I told them,” He said proudly.  

Hermione looked up from _Fabled Fates_ by Geoffrey Gethe, looking at him blankly.

“I told Draco and the others that my mum was muggleborn.” He elaborated.

Carefully setting down her history text, Hermione folded her hands and rested her head on them; this might be a long conversation. “Go on.”

Harry took a seat hastily and explained his tale. Apparently Harry had brought some introspection to the Slytherin house, challenging the aversion to muggleborns as counter to their goals. “And they call themselves ambitious - what’s ambitious about isolating yourself?” He exclaimed, making Hermione once again grateful for her muffling charms. Apparently, the first and second years were thrown a loop, questioning the house’s stance on, if not muggleborns in general, appearing to be neutral for the sake of achieving their goals.

Hermione hadn’t budged from her library routine, and had started making a log of who came when. The list was becoming more and more devoid of Gryffindors; the only one who came consistently was Neville, who had actually managed to teach her a few things about Herbology and was fast becoming a potential ally. A few weeks after her spat with Ron, however, the whole Gryffindor issue came to a head.

It was Halloween, and the castle was abuzz with excitement. At breakfast, bats flew low over their heads, sometimes bumping into levitating pumpkins. No one could seem to control their excitement, and classes were headed the same way. Flitwick was also caught up in the festivity, and taught a suspended levitation spell to mimic the pumpkins in the great hall.

Hermione had always, always gotten the spell right second in the class. She watched carefully for one of her fellow Ravenclaws or for one of the Gryffindors to get it right, but no one was getting it. Ron Weasley was bragging, commenting that he could do it first if no one was trying to be teacher’s pet. He had thrown Su Li and Hermione plenty of nasty looks, and Hermione had had it.

“Leviosa Iugis!” She finally exclaimed. The feather floated up to about eye level, and she angrily sent a few sparks up to it so that it would twinkle in the sunlight.

“Excellent work, Miss Granger! Simply stunning!” Flitwick zoomed over, “Twenty points to Ravenclaw for such exemplary charming-” he leaned in towards her, speaking softly, “I daresay you have a lot of potential if you put your mind to it.”

“Thank you, professor,” Hermione said, giving Flitwick a grin. “It was a simple spell anyhow,” she made eye contact with Ron in vindictive glee, “I’m more excited to start on more challenging charms.” Ron glared back at her.

Flitwick seemed to be oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in his classroom, and addressed the class again, “Alright, everyone, continue attempting the suspended animation charm! If you need any help, Miss Granger can undoubtedly assist you!”

Hermione bent her head shyly; of course the class knew she was knowledgeable thanks to her impromptu tutoring sessions in the library, but giving the Gryffindors help would mean someone standing against Ron’s obvious dislike of her. She knew he held sway, but now was the chance to see just how much.

To her disappointment, not a single Gryffindor asked her for help. The Ravenclaws did so only reluctantly, but knowledge and skill was useful no matter who you had to ask to gain it.

Classes continued uneventfully, if inefficiently due to the proximity to Halloween. She had camped out in the library with the Ravenclaws. Terry playfully commented that they were the only house able to concentrate during a holiday; Hermione, with her futuristic knowledge, had to admit he was right.

“Cho Chang said she would get us Honeydukes from a third year!” Lisa Turpin told her as explanation as they all began packing up. “You want to come with us, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up from her text, and made a show of considering before deciding against it. “Thank you, but I think I’ll get an upset stomach if I eat sweets and then Halloween dessert.”

As loud as self-respecting Ravenclaws could be in a library, they all groaned; “Her _mione_.”

Lisa, Terry, Su Li and Padma all knew she was something of a loaner, and accepted her in the group, but didn’t mourn her when she wasn’t there (well, unless they had a problem with Defense theory. Honestly, they were all hopeless with defense, not that she could blame them with Quirrell’s stuttering).

Hermione had wanted to stay for something else; a project of sorts, that she couldn’t do with a bunch of first years around her. She waved her hand in the air, surreptitiously casting a Notice-Me-Not ward. Then, and only then, did she lay a thin leather-bound notebook on the desk, open it to the centerfold, and start muttering.

By the end of her enchantment, a light outline of Hogwarts had sunken into the page. She opened her eyes, peering at it. “ _Yes!”_ she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. Remembering where she was, she quickly looked around, sighing in relief when her Notice-Me-Not held.

The grin wouldn’t slip off her face, and as she waited, the outline of Hogwarts was darkening on the page, filling in, and solidifying. She had re-created the Marauder’s Map.

Hardly thinking about anything but her success, she practically skipped down the stairs to the Great Hall. It was a night of celebration, and she couldn’t wait.

She was paying so little attention, in fact, that she didn’t notice as a malicious group lied in wait. Before she had the chance to react, she was tackled.  

On the hard stone floors, she looked up; her head was swimming, and she couldn’t focus enough to see her attackers clearly. “Bloody hell!” She moaned, clutching her head.

“We got her, ickle Ronnikins. Now set the trap!” She heard, and tried to stand up and stagger out of the way. Before she knew it, she was being shoved into a room, her robes turned a brilliant shade of red and gold.

She sat on the stone floor, slowly pulling herself up and into consciousness. Her map book was tucked against her, and the first thing she did was pull it out to the center page. “Shite!” She exclaimed. In dot form, Ron, Fred, George, Seamus, and Lavender were rushing away from the girl’s bathroom.

Hang on.

She was in the girl’s bathroom. On the ground floor. On Halloween, 1991.  “Shite.” She said again. Hermione reached for her wand, to ward the door. But try as she might, she couldn’t find it. It must have been out in the hall, where she had fallen.

The troll, feasibly, shouldn’t come here. The only reason it came in her was because Harry and Ron had locked it in – right?

She leaned up slowly, gasping for breath. Something on her side exploded in pain, and she flopped back on the ground. What kind of prank was this? She could die, for Merlin’s sake.

Lying on the cold floor, Hermione thought about her options. She could only accomplish whatever her weakened wandless magic could do, especially after having cast an enchantment like the map. She could heal her side (she figured she had broken a few ribs) but would probably pass out from doing that wandless. Her best bet was to reach her wand, or she would risk magical exhaustion from taking out the troll, if and when it reached her.

Hermione’s mind raced through the possibilities, but suddenly the decision was made for her. The troll had arrived.

* * *

Adrenaline had propelled Hermione up against the wall, gasping for breath. She had to act quick or get crushed to death. Seeing as she had put so much effort into travelling back in time, she much preferred action.

The troll, thankfully, wasn’t interested in the tiny blob of red and gold robes. It was currently smashing a sink open to use as a water fountain, but it was only so long before she knew it would come for her, and no one would be coming to her rescue this time.

She held a hand out, fingers splayed, and let her magic course through her. As she let out her spell (one of her creation, coincidentally) a few things happened:

“Necete!” She screamed; the magic _woosh_ ed out of her, and she collapsed on the ground.

The troll fell forward, crushing the remaining bathroom stalls. The club rolled out of its hand and slowly came to rest near the trolls’ puny head.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, stumbling into the room. Draco Malfoy ran into him, and they fell to the ground with a thump. For a moment, no one moved.

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” Malfoy gaped, standing up and brushing himself off. “Harry, you should go check on Granger. I’ll make sure the troll isn’t going to wake up.”

Hermione blearily looked up, saw Harry’s face, and groaned. “What happened?”

“I was about to ask you that, actually.” Harry looked worried, and she couldn’t help but think what a success it was for him to have tracked her down. “How do you feel?”

Hermione felt like she had been run over by the Hogwarts Express, crash landed on a hippogriff, which then carried her to a rocky cliff and angrily bucked her off. “Peachy,” she said.

Harry’s attention was quickly diverted, thankfully, by Malfoy. “This mountain troll has been killed.” He whipped around to face Hermione. “Who killed it?”

Hermione looked over at the troll. It was motionless; a spot of snot was slowly dripping out of its nostril, and the faucet drenched it in water. There were no visible injuries or causes of death. “I- I guess I did.” She stumbled, trying to think of a suitable excuse. She hadn’t anticipated anyone coming in to check on her, although in hindsight she hadn’t had much time to think.

Malfoy whirled on her, sneering. “No way you killed it, Granger. You’re nothing but a-”

“Then explain how it died, Malfoy.” Harry cut in. “You didn’t hear her shout a curse in the hall, but I did. Plus,” Harry grabbed her wand, using his body to block the sight from Malfoy as he passed it to her, “she had her wand in her hand.”

Hermione, stunned, went along with Harry’s plan. If her suspicions were correct, she was about to gain a very useful ally. “I killed it, Malfoy, and unless you want to go up against the same curse I suggest you stop questioning me.”

Malfoy’s head whirred back and forth, looking between her and the troll. She thought he may be going into shock, as he staggered over to the wall and slid down it. He grabbed his hair with a fist, ruining the sleek perfection he generally kept. “Dear Salazar… she actually killed it.”

He seemed to be talking to himself, muttering, “A mudblood, a first year mudblood, just killed a mountain troll.” He slowly came to, jerking away from Hermione as he realized their proximity.

Despite her pained state, she wanted to giggle. There was no way Malfoy was prejudiced enough to reject her hand in friendship after this – of course, the fact that she had used a spell of her own creation and possibly revealed a hint towards her time travelling was less to be desired, but she could worry about that later – just then, the door opened with a _bang!_

“What the devil is going on here?” Snape swooped in the room, quickly followed by Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Quirrell and Vector.

“Oh dear!” Flitwick squeaked. “This doesn’t look good at all!” A chorus of responses followed, as everyone assessed the situation.

“I think,” Dumbledore said calmly but commandingly, and the room quickly silenced, “That we should hear the story behind these events.” He looked down at the three of them, Harry crouched next to Hermione, Malfoy sitting on her other side. “Miss Granger. What has happened here?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, surprised. She was certain Dumbledore was going to choose Harry to explain. “Well, Professor,” she said, a quiver in her voice. “It all started when I left the library late, to go to the feast. I was late because I was finishing a potions essay, while Terry, Padma, Su and Lisa all went to drop their books off in the Ravenclaw-“ she had been speaking very quickly, but stopped abruptly to glance at the two Slytherins present, “Common room,” she concluded.

“But as I walked, I heard someone behind me. I thought it was Peeves, so I started running. I guess it must have been some Gryffindors pranking me instead, because they turned my robes scarlet and gold.”

Flitwick coughed, coming out more like a squeak than a cough, and changed her robes back to their original black.

“Thank you, Professor,” She said respectfully, and continued, “I think I broke a rib, because by the time the troll found me, I couldn’t move.” She glanced to her left at Malfoy, and continued, “If Harry hadn’t distracted the troll, and Malfoy hadn’t levitated its club into its head and killed it, I don’t think I’d still be alive to tell you about it.”

The two boys were gaping at her, Malfoy doing a better job of covering it up than Harry. The professors, thankfully, weren’t paying attention to them. All eyes had moved to the troll, and distractedly, Dumbledore muttered, “Thank you, Miss Granger.”

The professors huddled by the troll’s head, relating her story with what lay in front of them.

“Granger,” Malfoy muttered, so quiet it didn’t echo in the cavernous space. “Why did you give me the credit?”

Hermione just smiled back at him. “Thank you for coming to help me, Malfoy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You tackled a mountain troll and lied to the professors together, you should call each other by your first names.”

Malfoy paused for a moment, shrugged, and held out a hand. Hermione took it, and Malfoy muttered, “Hello, I’m Draco. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Hermione.” She said back, “Pleasure.”

Before long, the professors returned to question the trio.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. “What drove you and Mister Malfoy to come here and rescue Miss Granger?”

Harry responded evenly, “It was a conversation I overheard after the troll was announced, sir. I saw Ron Weasley and two other redheads, I assumed they were Fred and George, muttering that they should check the loo. I connected that with the rumor of Ron Weasley getting worked up over something Hermione said, and the fact that my friend hadn’t been at her table during the feast. Thanks to Draco’s help finding the loo, we thankfully got here in time.”

Dumbledore’s wiry eyebrows raised, and he peered at Hermione over his half-moon spectacles. “It seems, Miss Granger, that we have a potential culprit for your state. Did you have an altercation with Ronald earlier?”

Hermione frowned. “I suppose he may have been upset that I managed the suspended hover charm before him. I’ve never even met Fred or George Weasley, I think they probably did it because he asked them to.”

“I’m inclined to believe the two of you are telling the truth, if Mister Malfoy can confirm?” Draco nodded. “Then there will be a serious talk with young Mr. Weasley.”


	5. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione experiences the effects of Halloween night.

> Every object attracts every other object with a force that is proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them –Sir Isaac Newton

Hermione was promptly taken to the hospital wing by Snape, to her disgust, along with Harry and Draco, to their disgust; they didn’t believe they needed to go to the hospital wing, and adamantly refused any sort of potion on arrival.

Hermione wasn’t about to refuse potions on some notion of pride, and downed them immediately. “Thank you, Madame Pomphrey,” she managed, wincing at the taste.

“Of course, Miss Granger. Absolutely dreadful- Trolls in the castle!” She bustled off, leaving the new trio alone. A silence fell over the hospital wing; she imagined this wasn’t a situation Lucius Malfoy could have trained Draco for, so she changed the subject.

“Do you think Dumbledore’s going to give you two house points?”

“We didn’t earn them though – you were the one who killed the troll.” Draco said. “Why did you do it?”

Hermione tilted her head, thinking through a few potential explanations, finally settling on one. “I used accidental magic,” she started, “Or at least I think it was. I remember shouting a spell but I don’t recall what spell it was. I- giving the credit to you was the only thing I could think of.”

“I’ve heard of that happening before,” Draco said. Hermione had too, and had been counting on his familiarity with the concept. “In very stressful situations people have been known to act instinctively, using spells they may never have been able to cast, or even spells they don’t know.”

Hermione sighed. “So that’s what happened to me?”

“I suppose,” Draco said, “But it’s usually very accomplished wizards that, well, accomplish it.” Not first year muggleborns, she inferred. Maybe this would teach Draco a lesson about blood and how little it factored into skill level.

Harry seemed to notice what Draco wasn’t saying, but thankfully didn’t comment. She would have plenty of time to deal with Draco’s petty issues on blood purity later, now that she secured his tentative alliance. She had other fish to fry. 

Once she was released from the hospital wing, (an annoyingly long time, she thought. It was almost as if her body had been fighting the potions; an impossibility, for however terrible a person Severus Snape was, he was a damn good potions master,) she was busy keeping a sly eye on the Gryffindor table. She knew that Fred, George, Ron, Seamus and Lavender would be feeling guilty, to varying degrees.

Once she resumed her seat in the library, she had gotten a few questions from the other houses; mostly, “how did you survive?” and, “What was it like?” For most of these, she was able to wave it away, that she hadn’t really done much and she had been extremely injured, so she wasn’t very conscious of what went on.

When Lavender approached her, however, she hadn’t asked any of those questions. Instead, Hermione ended up making an unlikely ally. “Hermione-“ Lavender started, “I wanted to apologize for what happened to you.”

Hermione cocked her head questioningly, slipping a bookmark into her book and closing it. She was anticipating a long explanation for this. “What for? It wasn’t your fault, and I’m fine now.”

On Lavender’s face, she saw a clear pang of guilt. Still, having roomed with the girl for six years, she expected her to back down, and perhaps ask about the Defense homework.

“I know I don’t have detention like Ron, Fred, and George do,” she started, sitting down and speaking in a hush. “But I was there, that night. I saw them do it to you and I didn’t do a single thing to stop it – to make up for what they did to you.” Hermione knew this already, naturally. But she also knew that Lavender was expecting a harsh response, and if she didn’t say something the girl would start to justify her actions. Sure enough, she continued. “I honestly didn’t realize what was going to happen, it just, well, you always seem to know everything, even if you don’t get first in practical you know so much, it just didn’t seem fair. Ron said you were really mean to him, and so I didn’t see the harm in playing a little prank, but I promise I had no idea they were going to hurt you- and the troll, oh Merlin, Hermione, you’ve really been nothing but kind to me, and I know you work hard to know how much you do. You have to believe me Hermione-“

“Lavender,” Hermione cut off the girls babbling. She looked to be on the verge of tears and was attracting a bit of attention in the library. “Calm down.”

“Will you ever forgive me, Hermione?” She said, eyes filling with tears.

Hermione tilted her head, considering. Finally, she responded, “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

Gryffindors, especially the type of Gryffindor to follow fads, like believing Hermione had played with Harry and Victor’s hearts even though she had been living with them for the past four years, weren’t honestly the most trustworthy or stalwart of people. However, you could always trust them to honor the ideas that were in style, and she happened to know that honoring debts would be an important aspect of Gryffindor for the next seven years. It didn’t take her long to figure out the best thing to ask. “Someday, when I need help, you owe me one.”

“I promise.” She said, and the matter was settled. She paused for about twenty seconds before deciding to sit down. “I had a problem with the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay…”

\----

Despite Lavender’s apology being a surprise, there was an interaction Hermione was anticipating; she had wondered how long it would take the Weasleys to approach her in her corner of the library. Harry had just left, updating her on all the different movements of Slytherin house. Apparently Draco had been tight lipped about what happened on Halloween night, but rumors of his prowess had circulated, like all secrets do.

Hermione found it ironic, since as far as she knew Draco was a fairly average wizard. He had never put in extraordinary effort to extend his abilities, but if she could foster a strong enough relationship with him, she could perhaps change that.

He had, in fact, visited her, following semi uncertainly behind Harry, but once he realized no one else was watching, acted with an astounding amount of politeness.

 It was early November when Fred and George showed up, on an icy day. Only her warming charm was keeping her from freezing in her seat next to the window.

Fred and George slid up to the table, folding their hands on the table in sync. “Hey,” Fred started.

“We wanted to apologize,” George continued, looking awkward.

“We’ve been, well,”

“Right gits, really.” They concluded together.

“Fred, George.” She greeted them coolly. “I understand that you were the reason I almost died on Halloween.”

They grimaced. Fred almost started speaking, but George cut in, “Listen, Hermione. We do prank a lot, and we’re sorry our git of a brother made us think we should prank you. But we’re really sorry we caused that, and we hope you can forgive us.”

They paused, and Hermione wondered if they expected her to forgive them right off the bat. It was Fred who continued, “We’re willing to do whatever we can to make it up to you.”

Hermione grinned a little, guiltily. “I have an idea.” The twins leaned forward in what must have been a practiced motion, so she continued, “I know it’d be difficult, and not necessarily, well, legal, so if you’re not interested forget I asked at all.” She was trusting that the appeal of something illegal would, in fact, keep them from forgetting she asked.

She was also trusting that by sharing in an illegal something, they would hold a sort of leverage over one another that she could use in the future.

Fred and George looked at one another, grinned, and looked back. “We’re in,” they said in sync.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” she said, doing her best to appeal scandalized.

“My dear Hermione,” George said, as if talking to a small child. Fred took over, “We haven’t met a first year as interesting as you since we met each other!”

“Of course we’re in.” George said.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, adding, “Unless, you know, we’re not.”

Hermione smiled nervously, looked around as if suspicious that someone would overhear (she wasn’t, in fact. A _muffliato_ was cast as soon as they approached the table) and whispered, “I’ve read a little about the process of becoming an Animagus. Will you help me learn?”

Needless to say, the grins on Fred and George’s faces didn’t dim for a long time.

\---

Hermione had decided that she was becoming quickly overworked. Naturally the first year syllabi weren’t giving her any cause for concern, but the time in the library she spent helping people had started to become ridiculous. She was hard pressed to be left alone long enough to do her own work, between first years of all houses and talking about animagus theory with the Weasley twins. Not to mention, she was spending an increasing number of hours attempting to slip the story of the Philosopher’s Stone to Harry.

Before coming back, she made an outline of the important events in the original timeline that would need to remain the same, or close to the same, so that her knowledge of the future wouldn’t be completely useless. For instance, she could quite easily not tell Harry about the stone, and since half the ways he gathered information about it had been through his adventures with Ron, Harry would no longer be interested in it. In her mind, this was a more desirable outcome. Quirrell would presumably lose his job in another manner because of the curse on the position, and Harry wouldn’t go through the risk of interacting with Voldemort and potentially dying.

For two reasons, keeping Harry from this was impossible. Firstly, losing to Harry had set Voldemort back from being able to possess humans to barely being able to possess mice. Secondly, Harry would never learn that Voldemort was still alive, and because of this wouldn’t have the proper mindset to prepare himself for the danger of facing the Dark Lord one day.

So she was stuck trying to feed the loveably thick headed Boy Who Lived enough clues to make him think about what was under the trap door. An opportunity presented itself in mid-November, as Harry visited Hermione in the library.

“Hermione!” Harry said, passing her seat between the aisles of L and M. “Do you ever leave the library?”

Hermione put her book down; “Hi Harry! And not often, these days. There’s so much to read, I can’t imagine anything more exciting.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I admire your dedication, ‘Mione, but even you have to take a break every once in a while. Yesterday, Draco and I borrowed some school brooms and flew around for hours, but we still did our Transfiguration essay too. There’s more to Hogwarts than just books!”

Hermione smiled. “I suppose you’re right. What are you getting at?”

Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, apparently too excited to have sat down. “Let’s go exploring.”

“Aren’t you worried about the Slytherins seeing us together?” She asked.

Harry frowned a little; he must have forgotten the reason they always met in the library. “Nah, it’ll be ok,” he finally decided. “We’ll be going to places of the castle I doubt people want to visit anyhow.”

Hermione, who already had a plan for their exploration, could agree wholeheartedly. There weren’t many Slytherins who wanted to get caught going to the third-floor corridor.

Harry hadn’t a clue where they were going, and happily took a few suggestions to look into hidden tapestries and corridors. She carefully nudged him up to the third floor corridor, where he happily began to look for interesting rooms.

“This is bloody brilliant! I didn’t realize we had a trophy room!” Harry said at one point, ducking his head in.

“Look, over here, this door’s locked.” Hermione said. “I was reading about an unlocking charm, we can test it out!”

Harry ambled over. “What’s the spell?”

“Here,” she pointed at the doorknob, “ _Alohamora!”_


	6. Limitations and Adaptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns a harsh truth and a new skill as Christmas approaches.

> “A human being is a part of a whole… a part limited in time and space.”  –Albert Einstein

* * *

Hermione was sitting at her usual seat in the library when Harry approached.

As soon as he got inside her muffliato, she wagged her finger at him “Never again.” Harry looked at her questioningly. “Never again will I go exploring with you.”

Harry looked over at her with a smile. “Why ever not, ‘Mione? All we did was meet a three-headed dog and almost get swallowed whole by one of it’s heads, then run frantically from Peeves all the way to the Great Hall.”

Hermione sighed dramatically. “All we did was stumble upon a secret _Dumbledore himself_ said to leave well enough alone! Did you even see the trap door?”

“Oh I saw it alright. I’m just less concerned about what’s underneath the trap door than the three ravenous heads on top. Do they even feed that thing?”

Hermione stopped for a moment then; Harry brought up a good point, one she didn’t have an answer to. Harry took the opportunity to settle himself down at her table and start on his own work. She had been feeling so tired recently. How was she supposed to get on like this, she had no idea.

In her research before leaving for the past, she knew the trip was going to eliminate some of her energy. She knew she would be less physically capable and more dependent on magic. Eventually, her physical form wouldn’t be able to take the strain of her older consciousness and might explode.. But this wasn’t supposed to happen yet – it couldn’t happen yet. She had too much to do. How could she be burning out so quickly, with no solution in sight?

Harry sat innocently across from her, chewing on the end of a sugar quill. He saw her looking at him and gave her a questioning glance. Thinking quickly, she invented, “I’ve been wondering. What’s so important that they stuck it under a trap door, under a three headed dog?”

He shrugged. “Search me. Probably some magical artifact. There’s gotta be some valuable historical ones out there, eh?”

She shrugged, but internally cheered. “I don’t doubt it. I’ve been reading about all sorts in this book. Did you know unicorn blood is poisonous for the long term, but can halt death?”

Hermione had been carrying _A Brief Overview of Specialized Magic, Book 1_ by Parnicus Klein, the book she had long ago used to find Nicholas Flamel. The huge black binding _thump_ ed on the table, but unlike her original timeline, Harry looked at it with interest.

“Mind if I take a look at that?” He asked, “I keep thinking I’ve learned enough to get a grip on this whole magical culture, but I really have so much farther to go,” he eyed the volume as if it symbolized all his failings.

Hermione wanted to comfort him and say that most purebloods their age had little to no knowledge of most ideas in this book, but refrained. There were too many motives for him to read the thing cover to cover. “Be my guest,” she said. “I’ve already finished it.”

He propped it open, leaving Hermione more or less alone with her thoughts once more. She found herself wanting to take a good long nap, and admonished herself. She was going soft. She had to focus on the Philosopher’s Stone-

A thought entered her mind. It came like a bolt of lightning but lingered, a slow roaring fire in her mind: the Philosopher’s Stone.

It had been destroyed in her first year, last time – Harry had told her that somehow the fight between him and Voldemort must have destroyed it.

That meant if it was “destroyed” this year, no one would question it.

No one would miss it.

As this fire roared in her head, invigorating her past her fatigue. She could get it tonight: transfigure a rock into something that looked like the stone, place the other one back into the mirror and get out. But no, she couldn’t. She felt herself crashing back down. She needed the stone; she needed to use it. The Mirror of Erised wouldn’t let her take the stone.

She looked up at Harry, still chewing on a sugar quill. She needed Harry, innocent, noble Harry, to get the stone first. Only after he got it out of the mirror could she replace it with a fake.

“You alright ‘Mione? You’re a little… distant today,” Harry commented, noting her blank stare.

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.” She responded.

The utter exhaustion she felt must have been clear in her tone, because he bought it quickly. “Get some sleep, Hermione. You’re working and helping people all day, you need some time to yourself.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes. “Maybe you’ve got a point, Harry. I’ll try to do that.” After, she added mentally, she had solved the riddle of getting the stone, locating Voldemort’s horcruxes, stabilizing her and Harry’s positions and influence in Hogwarts, and finally killing the bastard that would destroy the Wizarding World. She had too much work to do to focus on herself.

\---

Despite this resolution, Hermione found herself waking up from a nap on her planner later that evening. “Bollocks!” She exclaimed, shooting upright in her library chair. Looking around, she saw a blond head turn slowly to examine her.

“And a good evening to you too, Hermione.” Draco said calmly, turning from his book to greet her.

For a moment, Hermione was frozen as she realized her situation. She had been thoroughly unconscious, and Draco Malfoy could have attempted to steal any of her things. She slowly lowered a hand into her bag, feeling around for her map, her school things, and the various journals she knew her plans were written in.

“Your things are safe, you know.” Draco said drolly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Hermione blinked. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “What are allies for?”

“You’re a paranoid bastard, Draco Malfoy.” Hermione grinned suddenly. “I wouldn’t like to be on your bad side.” If Hermione had to make a bet on it, she would bet that Draco was the second most suspicious and careful first year the school had seen for a long time.

Not that he didn’t have his flaws. She remembered seeing him at the welcoming feast practically rolling on the floor, pointing and laughing at the Weasleys. No one was perfect.

And if she thought about it, he was growing up quickly. Somehow his friendship with Harry (for at this point it was clearly a friendship. They were not merely allies) had turned him into a semi better person.

He grinned back at her, nodding his head in acceptance of the compliment. She nodded back, and they returned to reading.

Snow was quickly gathering on Hermione’s windowsill in the library, her only indication of the changing seasons. Before she knew it, Professor Flitwick was asking if anyone would be staying home for Christmas.

All of the other first year Ravenclaws were going home over the break; Hermione took a while to weigh the pros and cons before finally signing the paper to stay at Hogwarts. She immediately followed up with an owl to her parents that “all the students who are _serious_ about their studies stay to use the library” – she knew they would be upset their daughter wasn’t coming home over the holiday, but they weren’t big on Christmas and wouldn’t truly miss her all that much.

They did, to her amusement, send her back a number of muggle textbooks, far past the comprehension for an eleven-year-old. Interestingly, they hadn’t done that last time, but she had been sending letters full of adventures with Harry and Ron last time as well.

Harry and the Weasley’s were staying over the break, and Hermione had the idea to drop a “miraculous” shortcut to becoming animagi to the Weasley twins early on. She had toyed with the idea of bringing Harry into the fold, but was worried about his magical ability.

Hermione had re-emerged as a young witch with the extra magic of a thirty-one-year-old. Harry had no such advantage, and Fred and George might even be pushing it. She would use them as a test run.

Her shortcut to becoming an animagus, unfortunately, wasn’t written in a book. It came from none other than Pomona Sprout, eight years after the fall of Hogwarts. The Herbologist was a pureblood, and only managed to fit in to the muggle world with Hermione’s help. Despite that, she had turned to magic-assisted theft to live a comfortable lifestyle, and explored all possible routes to remain undetectable. Who was going to suspect an opossum stole the French crown jewels and sold them on the black market?

Pomona had shared with her exactly the process to become an animagus, but as Hermione wasn’t sure it would translate back to her younger body, she had refrained from putting in the time. Now her only issue was proving to the Weasley twins that this could actually work.

Hermione was rather proud of her work. Having written up a vague pamphlet of Pomona’s steps earlier, she altered the handwriting with a nifty spell and signed it “Msrs. Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.” With the code phrase, it would reveal a much more detailed description and the postscript: “With a lot of help from Mr. Moody.”

Fred and George were ecstatic, as she expected, and kept muttering about “fate” and “best pranksters in history” when they thought she wasn’t listening.

By Christmas Eve, she had been sleeping twelve hours a night, but finally felt prepared to perform the ritual. Fred and George had taken it upon themselves to get all the ingredients necessary. That was turned into a paste and would be applied to their eyelids as they underwent the process. George went first, gallantly offering to be the guinea pig, “You came out of the womb first, Freddie, I get to turn into an animal first.”

Hermione shrugged, and applied the paste. Speaking clearly, she added the enchantment.

For a second, nothing happened. Then George jerked violently, curling into a ball, yelped twice, and collapsed.

She and Fred huddled in worriedly. “You alright there, George?”

“What a rush!” he exclaimed, “I got this down.” He returned to the fetal position and, very slowly, began shrinking. His nose elongated, and his red hair extended down his back into a reddish brown fur.

“A fox!” Fred exclaimed. “Georgie, you sly dog.”

When George had successfully (slowly, but surely) turned back into a human, Fred exclaimed, “My turn next.”

She figured they wanted to test it first because they thought themselves responsible for her, and grinned slightly. That would suit her just fine.

“How’d it feel?” She asked George excitedly. “How did you know how to change?”

He shrugged at her. “I’m not really sure. Just after I came back to my senses, it was like I had always had the fox inside of me, and needed to bring it out, yeah?”

Fred rubbed his hands together. “Lets do this.” She applied the paste to his eyes as well, adding the spell with a wave of her wand.

He jerked around just as his twin had, but for a long enough time that Hermione was concerned. Looking from her expression to his brother, George was concerned too. Finally, he seemed to come to his senses.

He immediately began the process she had seen George go through, shrinking down to a dark, feathery mass. An adolescent raven took Fred’s place on the floor. He shuffled on the ground, giving off a reddish sheen. Hermione cooed at him, “aww, look at that. He’s got his freckles still.”

George joined in, and they shared a laugh at Fred’s expense. True enough, his breast was speckled red-brown.

Fred’s head tilted, and he seemed to be in deep concentration.

“Everything ok, birdie?” George asked, tone light but brows furrowed.

He tilted his head, making a jerky negative.

“I don’t think he can get out of his animal form,” Hermione said worriedly. She rushed to the desks, pushed to the side of the empty classroom they were inhabiting. “Here! To induce a re-humanification –who the bloody hell wrote this- two people must cast _homorphiate_ on the changed person.”

“Well there we go, then,” George rolled up his sleeves. “Any wand movements?”  
“A flick of the wrist to the right,” she answered promptly, before realizing that it wasn’t written down.

Cursing herself, she silently cast a text altering spell to add that in. She couldn’t afford to be using up all her energy before she herself went through the change.

“On three,” George took charge; “One, two, _homorphiate!”_

Fred quickly shed his feathers and shifted back into human form, albeit missing his clothes.

Hermione yelped and covered her eyes, “I did not want to see that!”

George shed his cloak and passed it over to Fred, who clasped it quickly. “Your eyes are safe,” He snorted.

Hermione looked back, thankful to see less bare freckled skin. “My turn!” She exclaimed, excited.

The twins looked back and forth at each other and grimaced.

“What?”

George shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s the best idea. Fred couldn’t even get back, and you’re only a first year—“

“Then I’d rather do it now when I’ve got two third years with me, instead of alone in my common room. Wouldn’t you?” she snipped back.

Seeming to concede, they laughed. “She’s feisty.”

“Well, lets see if her animagus form does that justice, then,” Fred concluded.

By the time he had dabbed the paste on her eyes and cast the spell, her mind was on fire with sensation.

She wasn’t _seeing_ anything, but impressions of a thousand experiences – clawing, biting, scratching, running – appeared in her mind. She smelled desert, blood, the heat of a battle; hissing and yelping filled her ears.

Before she was aware of anything else, she was on the ground, and the room seemed to be getting bigger.

“What the bloody hell is that?” She heard an overly-loud exclamation, and flinched back. Worried little yelps made their way out of her, and she shuffled on four legs.

A rodent, of some sort?

She felt a tug at her hind legs, and looked back to see a bushy brown tail.

“What in Merlin’s name…”

She wanted to answer, for she had discovered what she was. And with that will to speak in mind, she found herself growing a voice box, and hands, and feet, and before long she was back to her usual self. “I’m a mongoose. They’re well known for eating snakes in Sub-Saharan Africa.”

“I can get behind that,” Fred said, slapping her cheerily on the shoulder. “Blimey, three new animagi, and it barely took us three months.”

“The Marauder’s would be proud,” George said, holding a hand over his heart soulfully.

Hermione allowed them to sweep her up in their excitement, all the way down to the kitchens for celebratory sweets, patting each other on the back all the way.


End file.
